


Spider's Web

by TheRighteousMan (FullmetalFlameElric)



Series: Hot Mess [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blood Magic, Magic!Stiles, Marriage Proposal, Out of Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-02
Updated: 2013-06-12
Packaged: 2017-12-13 17:36:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/826975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FullmetalFlameElric/pseuds/TheRighteousMan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek Hale is familiar with the tangle of life's threads, much like the beautiful spider's webs he often finds himself entranced by. It's a game he's familiar to playing and winning. But when Stiles Stilinski, professional witch for hire of the supernatural world, comes in to the picture, Derek may be in well over his head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Prompt 14: Hot Mess](https://archiveofourown.org/works/826910) by [TheRighteousMan (FullmetalFlameElric)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FullmetalFlameElric/pseuds/TheRighteousMan). 



> So... yeah... um.... I have nothing to say for myself...

__

_Life is never easy. Anyone who says differently has never had to actually live, let alone fight for anything they really, truly believe. Life is about the struggle and the hardships. It’s about climbing to the top and falling back to the bottom and learning how to land on your feet. It’s about trust and betrayal. It’s about heart breaks and falling in love._

_Life is an adventure._

_A story yet unwritten and yet being written simultaneously._

_It’s not something we can control. It’s not something we can stop._

_It just is._

_I can’t even begin to explain how I got where I did. There were a few years when I don’t really remember what happened. And there are years I wish I could forget and faces I’ve hurt that I wish I could wipe from my mind and never see again._

_But that’s life. It’s suffering. It’s pain. It’s loss..._

_It’s loneliness..._

_Life..._

_Is death._


	2. I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Derek's mind cries "trap!" and Stiles is Stiles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah.. the first actual chapter. Sorry it took a while. I had it written long hand and just didn't have the motivation to post it.
> 
> I'm going to Australia on the 16th to the 21st of July so updates might be sporadic. That and I'm working on a few other stories as well. But yeah, hopefully the next chapter will be up soonish.
> 
> Hopefully.
> 
> Also, the ringtone is "How the Mighty Fall" By Fallout Boy

There were times in Derek’s life where he truly questioned his sanity. Today was one of those many times as he watched his betas dart around his yard and weave between the trees at the edge of the bordering woods.

It had been a full week since he’d last seen the pest known as Stilinski. He currently owed the shit a couple IOUs. Really, he called on him for help with the leprechauns five months ago and already he was a regular customer. Much to Scott’s annoyance and the rest of the pack’s amusement.

He should have listened when his instincts started screaming TRAP!

But of course he didn’t. He never did.

Maybe he should start.

As it stood, he desperately needed to start working out his own problems while dealing with his pack. It wouldn’t do for him to keep going to an outsider to solve all his territory disputes. He needed to put up a believing front of a strong alpha, and he couldn’t do that if he kept owing favors to the little shit known as Stilinski.

Then again, things never worked out for Derek Hale.

That could have been the reason his cell phone was suddenly ringing and drawing the attention of the pack. Erica skidded to a halt, Scott tripping over her and doing a flip over her shoulder and landing on his back at her feet. Isaac had slid to a stop as if he were sliding to home plate, his long legs stretched out before him as he flopped back onto his back to blink at the sky. Boyd was the only one that managed to come to an easy stop, trotting before stopping beside Erica.

“Whoa  
How the mighty fall (hey)  
The mighty fall  
The mighty fall  
They fall in love  
How the mighty fall  
The mighty fall  
The mighty fall  
Oh how the mighty fall in-”

Derek answered the call and brought the speaker to his ear. “What?”

“Well aren’t you pleasant as always, Sourwolf...” Stiles’ voice carried over from the other end as Derek had expected. “How do you know it was little ol’ me? Coulda been someone important.”

“You’re the only one that manages to change my ringtone without touching my phone. What do you want?” Derek sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He could hear his pack scrambling slightly closer while they pretended they weren’t listening in. Derek would deal with them later. At the moment, he was more worried about the odd waver he heard in the witch’s voice.

“Admit it. You’d be bored if you never made that deal with me.” Stiles mused, chuckling. the sound lacked a certain... spirit Derek was used to.

“What. Do. You. Want?”

“Geez... talk about antisocial.” there was a heavy sigh and Derek bit back the urge to growl his annoyance. “I need to talk to you. Face to face.”

“You know where to find me-”

“Not there.” the response was sharper than he’d ever heard from the younger man and it caused Derek to blink in mild shock. “Look... just... I’ll text you the address. Get here. Come alone.”

The line went dead.

Bringing his phone down to stare at the screen, Derek’s gaze focused on the image Stiles had sent him one day randomly. It was the witch himself, a close up of his head and shoulders. His collar bone was exposed, his neck stretched out as his head tilted to the side, biting his lower lip and smirking at the camera. (Honestly, Derek had deleted the image the second he’d gotten it, but the next morning it was Stiles’ contact ID on his phone. One day, Derek was determined, he’d figure out how the shit was getting into his phone without even being in the same house and screwing with his settings. He couldn’t even change them himself!)

“You’re not seriously going to go alone... are you?” Scott’s voice called over, snapping Derek from his study of the, by now, memorized image of Stiles.

It was a stupid idea. Derek knew better than to trust Stiles on his own. The witch was, well... a witch. He was a scheming, manipulative genius with the talent of the elements on his side. Not to mention his shady deals that no one knew for certain, but heard plenty of rumors about.

But there was something do final and heavy about that conversation that settled uneasily in Derek’s gut. Stiles hadn’t sounded like Stiles.

“Yes. I am. If I’m not back in three hours or you haven’t heard from me by then, come find me. Until then, you stay put.”

❧

Derek wasn’t entirely sure what he’d been expecting when he went to go meet Stiles. All he was certain of was the guy had a hell of a lot of explaining to do. Derek was a busy guy after all (not really, but he liked to tell himself otherwise) and he couldn’t just drop everything (this here usually being the pastime of watching Scott be ganged up on and forced into a puppy pile with the other betas) to bend to Stiles’ every whim.

He refused.

Which is why he showed up a half minute early.

By the moon his life sucked.

Stiles was there, waiting as he’d said he’d be. He was wearing a pair of jeans that looked well worn, as well as a bright red hoodie. Internally, Derek made a crack about Little Red Riding Hood, but outwardly remained his usual, mildly annoyed self.

He made to step over to the witch before pausing mid step. The metallic tang of blood drifted to him in the barely detectable breeze. Copper and iron hanging heavily the closer Derek leaned towards the witch. His eyes narrowed and this time he really looked at Stiles.

The human stood with a nearly invisible hunch to his shoulders. Dirt and grit covered his clothes and skin, darkening spots of usually pale flesh. A few rips and tears appeared in his cotton armor from what was likely a scuffle. Bruises were beginning to form and scrapes and cuts beaded with congealing blood. But what drew Derek’s attention was the dark patch beginning to form a brown stain on his left white sneaker.

Worry spiked hot through Derek and he stepped forward into view. Stiles turned to look at him, a gash over the bridge of his nose and a split lip becoming visible to Derek’s view now. He growled low in worry.

“What happened?” He demanded, crowding into the other’s space.

Stiles blinked before cracking a smirk and wincing as the movement tugged on his busted lip. “Easy there, Sourwolf. Not your pack remember?”

“Stilinski.” Derek growled in response. It earned him an eye roll.

“I’ll be fine. Look, I don’t have a lot of time to talk before we gotta not be... here.” Stiles stated, gesturing vaguely to the area around them. “I need your help and I’m willing to call in all my favors to get it. If you do, then it’s a... permanent thing. It’ll benefit us both and you’ll never have to owe me again. Now, will you cut a deal, or not? Cause, if so, we needed to relocate, like, five minutes ago.”

Derek took a second to focus on the younger’s body language. He was scared. His heart beat was frantic, jack hammering against his ribs. He was sweating. Derek could taste the salt of his sweat as well as the underlying tang of fear that was so similar to blood yet distinctly unique. His breathing was controlled despite the rasp of barely concealed panic. Pupils dilated, sharp as they scanned their surroundings. His entire body was alert, tensed and ready to spring and flee at a moment’s notice. He wasn't scared.

He was terrified.

And he’d come to Derek for help.A big change and permanent, but a benefit to them both. He’d have to be insane to accept without knowing everything. But when was he known for his sanity?

“Alright...”

“Good.” Stiles replied, grabbing his hand and pulling him down the alley to his familiar blue jeep. “Get in. I’ll explain everything when we get there.”

“Where?”

“My place.”

❧

The amount of warding on and around Stiles’ apartment made the place look like an impenetrable fortress to the supernatural. Compared to most homes with the basics, this simple one bedroom apartment was a stronghold.

It made Derek wonder just how paranoid Stiles was.

“Welcome to my humble abode.” Stiles states as he stepped inside. Derek paused at the door, feeling oddly exposed. Stiles glanced at him and waved a hand in his direction. “You’re good to come in. You’re welcome into my living space...”

And just like that, the feeling was gone and Derek was able to safely step inside.

The place was simple. small living room with a kitchen next to it. Down a small “hall”, there were two doors. The first was the bathroom with it’s - was that periwinkle? - painted walls and rubber duckie motif. The other door was the bedroom. The walls were a relaxing teal with a white, grey, and black scheme for the furniture and accents. It was surprisingly normal. The kitchen was tan with a wall that had a large section of unpainted plaster where repairs had taken place.

It was the living room, however, that completed the odd taste that defined Stiles Stilinski. To start, the ratty old couch was an offensive orange that clashed horribly with the blue walls. Violet fabric hung on the walls, draped in a way that would add dimension to the room, dampen noise, and mimicked a fortune teller’s tent. Coins of different metals and beads of glass, clay, and bone hung around the room, jingling when things were moved or the air around them disturbed. Crystals were placed strategically throughout the room and salt was scattered in specific spots. Blackout curtains hung open over the windows, dropping down to the seafoam green carpet covered floor. A beaten up table sat atop a hide with what resembled hand done cave paintings on it. Five points were carved into the table’s top along with the complicated array. Bone sat scattered and in a basket next to a case holding stones with runes etched into them and inlaid with gold and silver. A sheaf of silk was wrapped around old looking tarot cards, wolves taking the usual place of humans. Pillows of silks and velvets were scattered around the floor. Some with patterns of stylized animals, some galaxies, a few random patterns or solid colors. There wasn;t a single color in the color wheel that wasn’t present in the room somehow.

Star charts hung from the walls and were rolled into scrolls of cloth and papyrus. A few even recorded on aged vellum. They littered every surface available, on the tops of shelves of distressed black wood and book shelves already laden down with ancient books wrapped in leather or their binding barely holding on due to use and age. Incense sat heavily by the table, it’s scent the same dragon’s blood that clung to Stiles’ clothes and skin.

Charcoal lay on the table alongside scribbled arrays and sketches. The paper stained from fingerprints, burning incense, and wood from the candles that littered the room as haphazardly as the star charts. each burned to different levels, telling Derek where the man worked most often from how long the candle had been sitting there and the amount of wax left. At the far end of the room was a 24 hour camd;e made of 24 vertebrae of a human spine.

Directly above it, on the one open patch of wall, a large poster of Willow from Buffy the Vampire Slayer hung.

“Take a seat.” Stiles stated, snapping Derek from his daze. He blinked and looked to where the younger walked by, with the first aid kit in his hands, over to the couch. He must have been able to dig it out of the bathroom while Derek was taking the apartment and it’s oddities.

Slowly, Derek made his way to sit at the other end of the couch. To his left, Stiles was shoving bones, stones, charcoal pieces, and coins aside before setting the kit down and opening it.

“So.. Willow?” Derek asked, that seeming to be the only thing he could verbalize. Stiles shrugged.

“clients kept asking me why I didn’t have any pictures of famous witches, you know, like other places do with historic or famous people in their field. So instead of constantly explaining our aversion to portraits or photos or any of the like, I just tapped into my inner geek. Plus, she was badass. You’d be amazed how few of my clients actually know who she is.” Stiles rambled off, snorting in amusement.

“Aversion to portraits?”

A hum and the witch dug out rubbing alcohol and a sterile piece of gauze. “The number of bad curses, hexes, or spells that require a portrait or a clear image of the target is alarming. And the energy required to make portraits that make those spells void is just not worth it. Shit that’s nasty...” he hissed, rolling up his pant leg and removing his sock and shoe to reveal a group of deep gashes in his calf and ankle. 4 of them perfectly parallel.

Derek’s blood ran cold.

“You were attacked by a werewolf?” He demanded, for once invading the other man’s personal space instead of the otherway around.

“Whoa there, Lassie. Settle. I’m fine.” Stiles started, holding up a hand to stop the other. Derek just growled. “Ok, so I’m not 100%. I’ll be fine. All I gotta do is clean it up and wrap it with some of the healing poultice I made last night.”

Derek narrowed his gaze and sighed, holding out a hand. “Let me. At least this way I can see what I’m doing better than you can and it’ll be wrapped properly...”

Stiles blinked a few times before conceding and handing them over. With that, he put his leg in Derek’s lap and reclined against the couch arm and an overly stuffed pillow with a pattern of never ending cats covering it.

“Now.. tell me about this deal.”

It was silent for a short moment while Stiles gathered his words and argument. “I need an anchor.” He finally stated. Derek fumbled where he was cleaning and Stiles hissed in pain. “Shit! Sourwolf, that’s brutal! I haven’t even told you the best parts!” He complained. Derek just grunted.

“An anchor?”

“Yeah... See when someone immerses themselves as deeply into magic as I’ve done, born talent or not, it becomes harder and harder to control ourselves and our power. It requires a bond to pull us back from destroying ourselves and everything around us. I also need protection. Having pissed off enough people, I can’t keep defending myself on my own or without a bond. As much as it pains me to say it.”

Setting the rubbing alcohol aside, Derek took the jar handed to him and opened it. The second the smell hit his sensitive nose, he began to sneeze violently.

“That would be the comfrey. Sorry.” Stiles muttered.

Derek shot him a look, eyes widening slightly. “Isn’t that toxic?”

Stiles rolled his eyes, groaning as if about to go into a long suffered battle. “No. Despite what people think, it’s harmless when used correctly. Just like aconite can be honed into a deadly poison or a useful anesthetic. Much like belladonna, now that I think of it.” he added, tilting his head a bit and making a “huh” sound before shrugging.

Sighing, Derek shook his head and got back onto the real topic at hand. “So you want me to be your anchor then? How does that benefit me?”

“You could use the help of a witch in the pack. It’s not terribly uncommon and I’d be a large help when your pack start to pup as well as marking your borders.”

“All good points, but why you?”

“Because I’m offering. And because I also know that you need a mate strong enough to counter you if need be.”

Derek’s hands stopped dead above, and on, Stiles’ leg. His eyes widened and red bled into the normally hazel irises. The silence was telling enough after that. But how did he know that?

“How-”

“A born werewolf at your age? Born a beta and thrust into the role of alpha? You’re easy pickings to any member of rival packs if they so wished. Having mate would not only give you that extra boost, but a mate as strong as me? Think about it. You’re a smart wolf.” Stiles stated, meeting Derek’s gaze now that it was focused on him. “Besides, in order for the bond to solidify between us both bonding rituals have to be observed. Normally it’s just one collective experience with a witch and human getting married and tossing in our blood link, but with you... there’s the bite and the actual act of becoming a mate... It’s asking a lot, I know, but the benefits outweigh the negative of this in the long run. You can make sure your pack is safe and cared for and I can continue my existence knowing I don’t have to worry about destroying an entire town if I lose it.”

He had a few good points, ones he’d heard mentioned by his parents while discussing finding a suitable mate for Laura, when he was younger. And Derek knew Stiles could hold his own against Derek if need be. Maybe not physically, but through magic and intellect, the two were evenly matched. They balanced out one another’s weaknesses and strengths.

“And what would I tell my pack?”

“Whatever you’re comfortable with. If you want to tell them the truth, then we tell them the truth. Otherwise, just tell them a half truth. I’m part of the pack for the extra assurance of safety to all of us. Myself included.”

Stiles waited a bit, watching as Derek considered it. The werewolf’s shoulders shifted, setting firmly as he finished wrapping up Stiles’ wounded leg. Setting it on his lap, Derek thoughtfully ran his hands along the exposed skin, to the knee and back down. If he were to agree to this, it would require a certain amount of regular physicality. Could he do this? Would he be able to live with his choice? It was a for-life thing that Stiles was asking of him. Could he live with Stiels for the rest of his life? Share his pack, his home, his bed with Stiles?

Thinking about it, Stiles was far from ugly. Derek couldn't deny the man had been the subject of more than a few shower fantasies, but there was more to the bond of a mate than sex. to be fair, it held some place as well a large part in the actual forming of the bond, but it was, over all, about support. Could he trust Stiles to help support him emotionally? To help nurture the pack when Derek couldn’t? Could he be trusted to take over the role of caretaker? To be strong when Derek was weak? to defend the pack with his life? And lead them in the case of Derek’s death?

When he thought about it, the answer was simple.

“What do you think, Sourwolf?”

Lifting his gaze to meet Stiles’ own, Derek continued to softly run a hand along the witch’s calf.

“You know what your role in the pack would be, yes?” Derek asked, watching as Stiles tilted his to listen. “You would be responsible for the pups’ home life and well being. When I’m not there, you would be the main provider and the authority. The pups’ safety would come before your own if something were to happen...”

“Be pack mother, essentially. Help you take care of the pack. As well as you.” Stiles replied. He shrugged one shoulder. “I kind of expected a level of responsibility. The pack is family after all, right?”

Derek looked him over and sighed. He really hoped he wouldn’t regret this. “...Alright.”

“Alright?” Stiles asked, leaning closer slightly, eyes wide as he checked to make sure he’d heard right.

“Alright. On one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“You move into my home.” He watched as Stiles opened his mouth to protest. Holding up a hand, Derek leveled him with a flat stare. “It’ll be easier to protect you and you us, as well as my wolf won’t allow it’s mate to be living elsewhere. And this place, obviously doesn't have enough room for a werewolf pack.”

And just like that, Stiles deflated in defeat. “Fine. We can pack me up and move after we finalize this.”

Derek nodded and lifted a brow as Stiles fidgeted slightly. “Stiles?”

“So uh... which would you rather do first?” Stiles asked, swallowing a bit nervously now that they had actually reached this point. ‘I mean... Mine’s no where near as fun as yours is supposed to be, and it’s kinda horrible foreplay and-”

“Stiles.”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.” Derek stated before standing and pulling the witch up and over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.

“whoa!” Stiles murmured, eyes wide as his vision spun slightly at the sudden change in altitude before settling once more. “Uh, what’re you doing?”

“Taking you to your room.”

“Why?”

Derek tossed him one of those familiar scowls over his shoulder. Secretly, Stiles had taken to numbering them based on use and meaning. This one was scowl #35 “There’s now way you could seriously be this stupid and be called a genius.”

“Because I’m not claiming you on your couch.”

“Ohhh... right.”

❧

Whoever told Stiles his first time would be amazing, earth shattering even, had been a big fat fucking liar that needed their throat ripped out. Preferably by his new alpha werewolf mate’s teeth. Seriously, it was nothing like he was expecting. It was actually rather awkward and embarrassing at moments, but hilarious at others. And Stiles had even managed to fall off the bed once. It had hurt. It was messy. And it was a lot of fumbling and overall lack of grace on both their parts. Sure it felt good after, but still, Stiles wanted to strangle the liar that had painted a purely fictional account of losing one’s virginity.

He had been sorely lied to by one too many harlequin romance novels!

This, was the exact though currently circulating in his thoughts when he was finally able to actually articulate words in his head. Sprawled on his stomach, he pressed his face into the pillow and groaned, an amused chuff sounding beside him where Derek was watching him amused from his lounged back position. “...So not how I pictured losing my v-card. Please tell me it gets better after that... Lie if you have to.” he mumbled into the pillow, his words muffled, but still understandable.

“It’s gets better.” Derek replied, humor lacing his words. Huh, so Derek was able to loosen up it seemed. Stiles would have to remember this for later uses.

“Joy...” He muttered, trying to sit up and wincing at the pain shooting through his back. He shot Derek a look. “You did this to me...”

“Your idea.”

“Oh hush.” he sighed, finally managing to sit up and sway slightly as he got his bearings back. Wow he needed his brain to work again. “I need you to hand me the black box on my dresser over there...” He finally muttered, pointing to the far end of the room.

Derek looked at it before back to Stiles, brow lifted. “Why me?”

“Because I can’t feel my legs yet. now would you please, stop being a smartass and get it?” Stiles grumbled, fixing the werewolf with a glare.

Another chuff of amusement and Derek stood to retrieve the box. If Stiles ogled his backside, well, that was between Stiles and himself. Returning to the bed, Derek handed him the box and took a seat across from him. “What did you need it for?”

“The blood bond...” Stiles muttered. “You know, my half of this bond.” With that, he opened the lid. Inside rested two knives, one of silver and another of gold. The silver blade was engraved with a full moon as well as a few witch runes he didn’t recognize. The gold was similar, the runes slightly different and a sun emblazoned on the blade instead.

“Silver is usually reserved for women, but with you being a werewolf it represents your link as one of the moon’s children. The sun is usually the masculine color. Both are opposites representing a number of different things, depending on whatever the wielders want them to mean. When used together and the blood they spilled mixed, it creates a bond, a union through the combination of both into something more complex and balanced... beautiful.” Stiles explained, shifting a bit and shrugging as he handed the silver blade to Derek and kept the gold in his own hands.

“What do we do?”

‘From the center of your inner arm to your wrist, make a cut. We then put the cuts together and mix our blood and speak a few short vows. Simple as that. Pretty much, just repeat what I say.”

“But I heal.”

“Then make it deep.” Stiles deadpanned before taking up his own blade.

They didn’t look particularly sharp, but the gold tip slid into Stiles’ arm like a hot knife through warm butter. Dragging the blade from the incision to his wrist, blood welled up and spilled over the smooth pale skin. The contrast was sickening and it took a nudge from Stiles’ foot to get Derek to do as instructed. The knife slid in with little problem, startling Derek when his wound didn’t begin to heal immediately. Instead, a dull thrum coursed through his body, like a steady heart beat, but not his own.

Reaching over, Stiles gripped Derek’s arm directly above the cut, pressing them together so both ends matched up on each arm. Catching on, Derek gripped Stiles’ arm and locked gazes with him.

“Do you bind yourself to me through blood, thought, and body? To bind yourself as my anchor and my balancing half?”

A soft tingle began to form in Derek’s arm and he nodded. “Yes.” with a prompting look, he cleared his throat and repeated. “Do you bind yourself to me through blood, thought, and body? To bind yourself as my anchor and balancing half?”

“Yes. I bind myself to you and you to me. To create a whole, a balance, a family.”

A spark shot up his arm and suddenly the place where their arms were connected turned red hot. Silver and gold threads of light roped around their arms and tightened, cutting into the skin and mixing more of their blood before the cuts were gone. the burning grew hotter, the sound of searing flesh reaching Derek and suddenly both pulled back.

Hissing in pain, Derek slowly turned his arm over, watching as the skin mended. A black design blossomed on the newly healed skin. A tree branched out, going from wrist to where the cut had begun on his arm. A full moon hung in the branches, the design silver in color stood out against the black of the tree. On his palm, the roots of the tree ran, stopping at the tips of his fingers. Flexing his arm, Derek glanced over to note that Stiles was sporting one nearly the same, a sun of gold hanging in the branches in place of the moon.

Reaching out, Stiles ran a finger down from the tops of the branches to the roots of Derek’s tree. A tingle of warmth and comfort trailed in the touch’s wake. “Think you could get used to that?” Stiles asked, his voice dragging him out of his thoughts. He could feel the slight tug at the back of his mind, amusement. It took a second to realize it was Stiles’ own thoughts.

“It’s...”

“A manifestation of our blood bond.” Stiles explained, pausing to clear his throat and straghten up. “I should shower... and then we should get everything I need packed up... I’m going to need my own room for seeing clients..” He started, trying to get this sorted out before he forgot or reality sunk in. “And... where.. am I going to be staying?”

“In my room.”

“You mean-”

“When you meet the pack, it will be as their alpha’s mate...” Derek affirmed, looking Stiles over. He caught the flutter of nervousness in the other’s heartbeat and silently sent him what he hoped was an apologetic look. “I can’t hide this from them... not with how important you’ve just become to me...”

Nodding, Stiles took a steadying breath. “Right... let’s uh... get this show on the road...”

❧

Packing had been hell on Stiles’ back, at least until Derek took over the heavy lifting and left Stiles to pack and tape things up. It was fine, at least until they climbed into the jeep with the few belongings Stiles was keeping, his orange couch and bookshelves on a trailer behind. It was only then that reality started to sink in and he could feel his breathing pick up. Panicked, he turned to Derek.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Stiles?”

“I mean, I already surrendered my hard fought cherry to you and it was definitely not what I was expecting. No offense to you, but I’m a horrible bed mate even if we’re bumping uglies. I never shut up and I hog the bed and kick the covers off. It’s a love/hate relationship I have with my bedding. In fact it’s really rather heartless and cold - like a loveless marriage and - oh god, that’s what this is going to be isn’t it? I mean the sex was good, if not a bit awkward and just all around embarrassing, and I’m certainly not averse to trying it again, but we’ll end up resenting one another and stuck with someone that hates us and we'll be even unhappier, and we’ll fight constantly, and blame one another for all out problem and we’ll grow to be old and bitter and we’ll be that old couple everyone wonders why and how we’re still married or haven’t killed one another. I’ll be poisoning your food every night in hopes that you finally die one day and you’ll be trying to hire hitmen to get rid of me. And we’ll still be stuck together for the rest of our lives, even in death. They’ll bury us side by side with a joint headstone that reads ‘here lies the world’s unhappiest couple. Fighting till the bitter end. May their deaths finally bring about the winner of the their never ending bitching!’ And did I mention I drool in my sleep?”

Derek felt like he had whiplash from the verbal vomit he’d just been subjected to by his mate (wow that was strange to think).

“Stiles... relax...” Derek started, hesitating only a second before placing a hand on the man’s knee. He felt the tension bleed out of his the second he had made contact. He looked, really looked, at those amber eyes and felt a tug at his chest. Maybe it was stupid for him to panic because it had been his idea, but if he was really this worried and still went through with it? Just how terrified was he that he’d throw away any guarantee he had at real happiness just to make sure he was safe? “...Are you really that worried about this?”

The witch shrugged, dropping his gaze to where his hands were gripping the steering wheel tight enough to turn his knuckles white. “I run my mouth when I’m nervous. It’s nothin-”

“Stiles.”

“Yes.” Was the whispered response. “It’s stupid since it was my idea and it really does benefit us both, but.... it’s stupid, never mind.” Stiles stated, throwing the jeep into gear and pulling onto the road.

Derek sighed softly, glancing out his window, but not removing his hand. It had begun to rain slightly. Fitting. He was just glad there was a tarp over the trailer.

“I know it’s not ideal, but I promise... I’ll do everything I can to make this work... to make sure that fear never becomes reality... I’ll try and make you happy. Even if it’s not your idea of a fairytale, happy ending...”

“...Thank you...”

If Derek could smell the salt of tears from Stiles’ side of the jeep, he said nothing. He just kept watching the rain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have the trees drawn. I just need to scan them and put them in here. Sorry if it takes a bit. My brother's scanner hates me and it's the only one I've got access to.


End file.
